


Upgrade

by RainbowArches



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Even if they don't admit it, Gen, Natasha-centric, POV Natasha Romanov, Parent Nick Fury, Parent figure anyway
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-27
Updated: 2015-02-27
Packaged: 2018-03-15 11:15:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3445058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RainbowArches/pseuds/RainbowArches
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Building trust as found in professional and familial relationships.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Upgrade

“I have your life story in this file. Riveting stuff. But I need to hear it from you personally. Tell me what happened, from the beginning.”

“I was orphaned when I was five. It was the middle of winter when they found me. I was lost, and starving…”

It was embarrassing, being handcuffed to the table and interviewed/interrogated by one of her more elusive targets. She wasn’t trapped; it wouldn’t take her more than a minute to escape if she wanted to. He must know that. She had a hard time believing that this is what Shield considered secured for a target that had been shoot-to-kill a few hours ago. She remained calm, quiet and submissive, her eyes down cast, the whole time. She was sure she wasn’t fooling anyone, but she didn’t want to scare them more than she already did. The goal was not to be underestimated, but to show remorse and a willingness to cooperate. She wanted this to go smoothly, and she _was_ remorseful and willing to cooperate.

“What do we have to offer you?”

She glanced up, silently asking him to explain.

“If you’re not after our heads, what do you want? What do you hope to gain?”

“A clean slate. I’ve been depending on all the wrong people for my survival. I want to try again.”

“This isn’t a rescue shelter. Don’t expect to be spoiled rotten just because we’re the good guys. I demand your best work, your best behaviour, and your unwavering loyalty at all times. Do that, and you can have a home here. Stray and I’ll shoot you myself. You start tomorrow.”

The handcuffs came off and Fury led her to a holding cell, holding the door open for her with all the offhand chivalry of a man at the supermarket. Natasha stared into the blank, basic space and looked up at him with mingled disappointment and confusion.

He stared back at her with an amused smirk beginning to form on his face. “Were you expecting something else? A hotel suite? Get in.”

She shuffled inside. He closed the door behind her and locked it.

“Do you make prisoners out of all you agents?”

“Oh, no. You’re special.”

She turned around and wrapped her fingers around the bars, gently, not in any way pleading. “How long?”

“That’s up to you. How bad do you want to be here?” He made his exit, tossing over his shoulder, “I told you you wouldn’t be spoiled.”

 

He brought breakfast the next morning. He actually stepped inside the cell to give it to her.

Her mind automatically ran through all the ways she could kill him and/or escape, and she had to clench her fists to not act on any of them. It was instinct at this point, this indiscriminate treatment of everyone as a threat to eliminate. Instinct was hard to shake. He could have been offering her a billion dollars, no strings attached, and she’d still want to kill him and run. Instead she simply stared at the proffered tray.

“What? Not hungry?”

“I don’t suppose you’d tell me if I asked what you put in it.”

“No, I wouldn’t.”

It was eggs, bacon, toast, an orange and a water bottle. She’d been trained to accept meals from only one person and to fend for herself the rest of the time. She didn’t think she’d die if she ate it, but Shield was no a no-strings-attached deal, so she decided to play it safe.This was not the hungriest she’d ever been. One missed breakfast was no hardship for her.

Fury either hadn’t picked up on her suspicion or refused to acknowledge it. “Breakfast is a must for all my agents. If you’re going to stay here, you’re going to need to eat.”

“I can feed myself.”

The corners of his lips twitched. “I was hoping you’d say that.” He picked up a strip of bacon and started munching on it. “Let’s go to the kitchen and you can make your own breakfast. You’re missing out, though; I think all they have left is oatmeal.”

Natasha sighed. She hated oatmeal.

 

She started missions right away, as promised, but she was put through various pre-mission assessments anyway; combat (unnecessary), psychological (annoying), behavioural (easy). She learned the system, all the rules and clearance levels, and still wasn’t an official Shield agent. She didn’t have access to anything unsupervised, and every night Fury personally escorted her to her cell and locked her in.

She didn’t know what he was waiting for, what she was supposed to do. She was doing everything right. She followed orders, she didn’t insist on cooking her own meals anymore, she didn’t hack her way into anything restricted, even though she could. She saved Barton and Coulson’s life once. From the look on Fury’s face she thought that’s what it took to get her own room, but after the debrief he took her back to the cell.

It got a bit repetitive. The work was dull most of the time, and never particularly challenging. She didn’t let on. She was afraid complaining about it or even hinting at her dissatisfaction would unravel the whole arrangement. She didn’t want that. She felt safe, if unappreciated. They recognized her skill, sure, but they didn’t utilize it to the extent that could.

“I can do more, if you want.”

“Getting bored?”

“No. I just want to help.”

“I’ll let you know.”

Still, people were civil if not cordial. They protected her even though they didn’t have to or want to. She could be patient.

It was when she came back from her first solo mission that he let her out of the cell and promoted her to a level one agent. She didn’t think he had a tail on her; she would have noticed if he had. He must have done something, though, or how would he know she hadn’t been reporting to someone? She didn’t bring it up. She didn’t want to raise unfounded suspicion, or make them think she didn’t trust them. She hoped this was an act of trust, because she really did want to stay.

 

Fury’s apartment was small, classy, and impersonal. It said a lot about his style but nothing else. Natasha wondered if he’d hidden anything to make it appear that way, and where she might find it. She wondered if she’d find bugs if she looked. Most people didn’t bug their own apartments but Fury seemed the type. She didn’t ask and she vowed not to find out.

“We have a couple of apartments for people making the same transitions as you, but they’re occupied,” Fury said. “So you’ll have to stay here.”

He made up the couch for her, told her to help herself to anything in the kitchen, and went to bed. She wasn’t hungry or tired, but he hadn’t given her anything to do. He didn’t have a T.V. or a radio or even a bookshelf. She crawled under the covers and stared at the ceiling.

The door was locked, as was Fury’s bedroom; the alarm was set. Normal precautions, and easy for her to get around if she wanted to. She didn’t know if that meant he trusted her or if he was testing her. Was someone watching the place in case she tried to escape? If she broke into his room would there be a gun aimed at her? He trusted her with intel but did he trust her with his life? If she wanted to kill him she’d have done so ages ago, but it wouldn’t have been as easy as right now, and he knew that. She didn’t think he’d ever stop testing her, but what she hated was that she really couldn’t blame him.

 

He woke up before she did. Shield played havoc with her routine and forced her to make another one. She used to be up before the sun every morning. Now she was never up before six unless she needed to. Sleep was another must for Fury’s agents, apparently. The smell of breakfast- she couldn’t tell what it was but it smelled like cinnamon- lured her into the kitchen. She sat at the table and watched Fury fry something on the stove.

“You hungry?”

“What are you making?”

“French toast.”

She didn’t say anything and he looked over his shoulder to check the blank expression on her face. “That okay?”

“What’s French toast”

His brow furrowed. “Seriously? You’ve never had French toast?”

She shook her head.

“You poor kid. Here.” He prepared two plates and set one in front of her. “It’s like pancakes only fancier.”

She didn’t tell him she’d never had pancakes either. She crinkled her nose as he drowned his in syrup. She’d never been allowed sugar for fun. It was a disgusting childish vice, they said; that would make you lazy and useless. It smelled sweet enough on its own. She cut off a corner and put it in her mouth. It was pretty good. Could use a little something.

“Do you always use that much syrup?”

“Yeah. But I don’t make French toast very often, so I’ll use as much as I want.”

“Can you pass the syrup please?”

 

She breezed through the first four levels quickly. She proved herself loyal, trustworthy, resourceful, intelligent, pragmatic, cooperative, and protective of those who protected her. She knew because Clint and Coulson told her. Fury told her too in his own discrete way. She’d been assured most agents halted at level four for a while before they progressed to level five, but she had a feeling it would be exceptionally difficult for her, like everything else. That wasn’t entirely fair, actually. Most people didn’t progress more than one clearance level a year; she went through two. Fury put her through double the tests before trusting her with anything and she always performed exceptionally well, which probably had something to with her quick promotions.

She knew better than to think rescuing a couple of bad ops would get her to level five, nor did she think training junior agents would do the trick. She did it anyway, and did it well. That’s what got Fury to tell her up front how pleased he was with her work. He’d never directly complemented her before. The man was blunt about a lot of things but praise was not one of them, at least not in her experience. It made her impatient to know what she had to do to progress. She didn’t ask and he was not forthcoming. She understood his caution, but it was getting old.

Successfully leading a mission, apparently, was what it took. She was nervous. Three of her team were younger than her; precocious, but very green. The other two were veterans who weren’t keen to be taking orders from her. She took a big sister approach with the younger ones, and went for fair but assertive with the older ones. She listened to everyone and incorporated the ideas she thought would work, and shot down the ones that wouldn’t. It didn’t take long before she had everyone’s respect, and the op went smoothly. Fury collected everyone’s reports, read them, and promoted her to level five.

“You’re good,” he said. More praise. She might blush. “Keep it up.”

“Thank you, sir. I will.”

His expression was odd, just then. A mix of puzzlement and surprise. It occurred to her that she’d never really thanked him before.

“You’ve been very hospitable,” she continued. “More than anyone. I want you to know I appreciate it.”

“Well, I saw a lot of potential in you, and a lot of heart. I wanted to encourage that. I want you to succeed here.”

She ducked her head. She probably was blushing now. “To be one of the good guys.”

“You were always one of the good guys.”

 

“Happy birthday!”

Natasha scowled and yanked the covers over her head. This sleeping thing was becoming a bad habit. Once she started she didn’t want to stop.

“So? Wasn’t a big deal last year.”

“And it’s not a big deal now,” Fury assured her. “Unless you want it to be. Get up. You’re playing drill sergeant to the newbies this morning.”

She groaned and hauled herself into the bathroom while Fury made breakfast. It was probably oatmeal. That’s what he usually when he sent her on these assignments. She didn’t mind anymore. She learned that it tasted better with heaping spoonfuls of brown sugar and raspberries. One of the most important life lessons Fury had taught her was to love and respect sugar; sugar was her friend.

“Maybe I’ll open the good brandy tonight,” Fury said, setting her bowl in front of her as they sat down. “I think it’s good. It was really expensive anyway.”

“Okay.”

“No, not okay. You’re underage.”

She frowned. “That’s never stopped me before.”

“Well it’s stopping you now.”

“Hmph.” She stirred her oatmeal around, collecting all the raspberries. “When I find it I’ll open it without you.”

“Then I’ll buy you a birthday cake and eat it without you.”

Her lips twitched. “You can have your brandy if you buy me a cake.”

“Deal.”

 

Natasha blinked until the blur rolling past the window molded into familiar shapes of lamp posts and buildings, and then melted into a blur again. She looked to her left and found Fury in the driver’s seat. He glanced at her.

“How’s your head?”

Throbbing, and her stomach felt swimmy. She gingerly put her fingers to her forehead and felt the gash on her eyebrow. She vaguely remembered a woman coming at her with a crowbar; a stupid miscalculation on Natasha’s part and she was out for the count. She cringed in embarrassment at the memory.

Fury seemed to sense her discomfort. “Don’t worry. I finished the mission.”

“I should have seen it coming. Wasn’t that hard.”

He waved the criticism away. “That sort of thing happens to everyone. I once accepted a drink from my target that turned out to be drugged. Luckily I reacted badly to it and didn’t divulge anything cause I couldn’t understand a word he was saying. Ended up throwing up all over him.”

Natasha stifled a laugh, but he was grinning so she didn’t think he’d be offended.

“Most embarrassing thing was that wasn’t even that long ago. Don’t let experience make you cocky.”

They pulled into the parking lot and made their way up to the apartment where Natasha collapsed on the couch with a sigh. Fury put the kettle on and started preparing mugs for tea.

“I hadn’t actually planned to bring you back here,” he said. “But then you got in an accident and I didn’t want you to wake up someplace unfamiliar.”

“What do you mean?”

“I got you your own apartment.”

She raised her eyebrows. They hadn’t discussed her moving out. She had wondered about it from time to time, but never brought it up. “The one for people making transitions such as my own?”

“No. A regular old apartment. I don’t think I need to keep a close eye on you anymore. So one more night on the couch and then you’re a free woman.”

She smiled. She hadn’t thought of herself as a prisoner in a long time. She’d forgotten Fury’s reason for having her live here was to keep her under surveillance. Truth be told, she’d gotten comfortable coming back to this place every night and waking up to find him in the kitchen, making her breakfast. They’d become friends here. She’d miss it.

But her own apartment. That was exciting. She didn’t have a lot of personal possessions and she thought she might like to acquire some; it would help to have somewhere to put them. And she’d have her own space to do what she liked with, to relax in however she wanted and to share with whomever she trusted. She’d have to invite Fury around sometime and make him dinner, repay the favor he’d been doing her the past couple of years.

Yes, she’d miss this place, but the more she thought about it, the more she wanted to make a place of her own, with her own belongings and her own style and her own rules. She was beaming at him now.  “Thank you.”

“Don’t get too excited,” he said. “It’s got all the basics as far as furniture and food are concerned, but everything else is on you. Decorating, T.V., beer, rent; you’re paying for all that.”

“Good. I’m not spoiled.”

He laughed. “No you’re not.”

She’d saved enough that she could look after herself now. She couldn’t afford to do everything at once, but she could make a good start. Fury probably knew that or he wouldn’t have found her a place yet. She wondered in the back of her mind if that knowledge was based on her financial information she had never knowingly shared with him or if he had simply noticed her spending habits and decided the timing was right. She didn’t dwell on that thought though because she’d learned to trust his motives and to trust him with her best interests. The scary part now was trusting herself with her best interests.

He sank into the couch next to her and handed her her tea. She inhaled, letting the steam moisten her face and sooth her head.

“I don’t want you to think I’m kicking you out though.” He looked at her with his honest expression, the one that formed when they got home and the toll of the day faded away, leaving him years younger and years older at the same time. She wasn’t the only one who’s miss this.

“I know you’re not.”

He nodded and turned his gaze back to the wall, the perfect place for a T.V. if he were so inclined. “You’ll let me know if I can help with anything.”

“I will. You know you can always come over if you miss me,” she teased.

He huffed a laugh. “I don’t fit on most couches.”

“I really don’t mind sleeping on the couch.”

“You’re welcome here any time.”

 

 


End file.
